


PWP: Purring without plot

by briannorelfhunter



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Obviously), Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt centric, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Anxiety, Geralt's horrific self-worth issues, Jaskier knows, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Massages, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Purring, Snuggling, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Subspace, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no sex and no kissing just soft touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briannorelfhunter/pseuds/briannorelfhunter
Summary: Geralt purrs in front of Jaskier then panics. Jaskier shows him it’s ok to be soft.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 815
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, The Witcher





	PWP: Purring without plot

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I want to read more Geralt purring and more anxious Geralt and more soft understanding Jaskier and more…..  
> Me at midnight before an exam: *opens a blank word document*
> 
> (I stole the ‘pwp’ pun from another fic. And now I can't fucking find it. So if anyone knows what it is, let me know in the comments and I’ll link it here!)

The hunt had gone sideways. Fucking alghouls, with their fucking claws. More of them than expected, coming at him from too many angles. Luckily they hadn’t noticed Jaskier, watching the scene unfold from atop a rocky outcrop. 

He jerked out the way out of yet another claw, glancing off his armour without breaking through. Aard blew a few of them back, giving him more space to work with, and he twirled on the spot, sword slicing through the neck of one and wrist twisting to dole out the same fate to another. His shoulder twinged and the swing hit wrong, injuring the alghoul, but not fatally. It hissed at him, and he could hear the remaining alghouls recovering from the blast behind him. He lunged, taking off one alghoul’s leg while simultaneously avoiding the couple trying to leap on him. Geralt anticipated the blow as one launched itself at him, and he held up his sword as it impaled itself. The force of it knocked him backwards, and his back groaned in protest as he rolled with it and back up to his feet. 

A couple of weeks of near back-to-back contracts, mixed with a few unfortunate unpaid encounters on the road had taken its toll on his body, not even the mutations could stave off the effects of overexertion. But with only two alghouls left, and one injured at that, the battle was finally in his favour.

He stunned the angriest one with a quick Axii as he finished off the other, then made quick work of the last one. He stood alert for a moment, listening for more. But the only sound he could hear was Jaskier’s footsteps, scrabbling against the ground as he quickly made his way over from his vantage point.

Geralt let himself sink to the ground, leaning on his sword. Just for a minute. He’d rest for a minute, then they could carry on. Jaskier crouched beside him, hands flittering and scent rife with worry. 

“Geralt, are you injured? Any of this blood yours?”

Geralt grunted in response, words too much effort for the moment. He wasn’t gravely injured despite the uneven odds, more battered than bloody. Jaskier looked disbelieving but didn't press further, trusting Geralt to say if something needed immediate attention. They’d done this enough times to know the drill.

After another moment's rest, _weak, keep moving, a witcher must always keep moving,_ he forced himself to stand and start gathering evidence for the alderman. Behind him, Jaskier helped him collect the spikes, a useful ingredient for his potions as well as proof of the kill. They walked back to Roach in what passed for silence with Jaskier - no conversation, just humming. It didn’t escape Geralt’s notice that Jaskier kept frowning at him when he thought Geralt couldn’t see. What it was for, he had no idea, and frankly, he was too exhausted to care. 

The fight replayed in his mind, and he analysed each move, everything that went well, everything that didn’t. It was his ritual after every battle, as a witcher must learn from their mistakes or die from them. It was all too clear that the lack of reprieve was affecting his ability to fight effectively. Focusing on his body, he barely registered Jaskier walking him and Roach back to town. There was a tightness in his back, radiating out into his shoulders, and it was that that had fucked up the fight. Muscle fatigue was nothing to scoff at, when muscle was essentially one of his weapons. Resignedly, he realised that he’d have to ask Jaskier to give him a massage. 

Now it wasn’t the massage that was the problem, no, he’d had many and enjoyed them. Jaskier himself had done it many times before. And each time, Geralt had to fight the urge to sink back into those capable hands, and let Jaskier massage away the pain. _All_ of it, not just the physical. With the exhaustion he was already fighting, the urge to give in would be overwhelming, and dangerous. Dangerous, but not quite as dangerous as a muscle failure in the middle of battle. Geralt may not have exactly been living the high life, but there was no fucking way he was ready to die, not to an avoidable situation. Death was inevitable for a witcher, but that didn’t mean he had to fucking go _looking_ for it. So. The lesser evil it would have to be.

They got the payment from the alderman (no issues, luckily), and finally retired to their shared room in the inn. As soon as they stepped in, Jaskier was right there, helping him shed his armour, fingers flying expertly over the laces and buckles.

“Looks like you’re going to have to get this repaired, Geralt, those claws did a nasty job on it.” He ran his eyes over Geralt’s body in concern, checking for injuries until he was satisfied that nothing needed tending to. “Ok, go sit down witcher, I think you’ve earned a rest now.”

He hadn’t, he still needed to clean his armour and swords, start to make repairs, add the spikes to his ingredients stock, check the stock for supplies that were running low, count the-

Jaskier’s hand gently pushed him backwards and he sat heavily on the bed. Maybe the bard was right. Just a little rest. He breathed in deeply, getting a lungful of Jaskier’s scent for his trouble. He smelled of pine-oil perfume, sweat, and contentment. The familiarity of it settled him a bit, and he looked up to see Jaskier smiling fondly at him. He huffed and looked away again, unable to hold his stare. Jaskier reached out a hand to briefly brush the top of his head, then wandered off to get into his nightclothes. Geralt sat for a few moments longer, before getting up slowly to do the same. They’d long since blown past modesty with each other, both necessity and ease causing them to be undressed in some sense around each other rather often throughout the years. All the same, it was a little harder than it strictly should be for Geralt to not stare at his travel companion’s _strong, toned,_ bare ass. 

He pulled himself out of his _forbidden, distracting_ thoughts, and remembered that he was going to ask Jaskier to help tend his back. He had to ask now though, before the other got settled, ready to sleep.

“Jaskier?”

“Yep? Need something?”

“Yeah. If you wouldn’t mind I, hmm. ” It was always difficult to ask, rather than wait for it to be offered. At least he had a genuine reason to ask though, so he didn’t think Jaskier would mind too much. “I need a massage, my back and shoulders are causing issues. Fucked up my fight earlier.”

“Oh! Of course!” Jaskier didn’t seem at all put out by the request, smiling brightly and striding to his pack to get the oil. 

Geralt moved to lie on the bed as usual, but Jaskier stopped him. “Why don’t you sit in front of the bed, so I can sit behind you?”, he suggested. “You could kneel on a cushion and do your meditation while I work.”

Of course Geralt would never be able to focus enough to meditate properly with Jaskier’s hands all over him, but he couldn’t exactly explain that to the man, so he grabbed one of the tatty pillows from the bed and knelt.

“Thank you, darling,” Jaskier said, voice pitched low. Geralt fought a shiver. The low voice did things to him. Combined with the endearments that never seemed to stop leaving the bard’s mouth, it was intense. He breathed slowly, trying to even his breath into at least an imitation of meditation as Jaskier took his place on the bed behind him. He could hear the slick sounds as Jaskier warmed the oil between his hands, then those hands were on him, gently manhandling Geralt into a position he was satisfied with.

Firmly, Jaskier’s fingers worked over the knots in his shoulders, easing some of the tension. He exhaled softly at the sensation, feeling relief already despite the massage only just beginning. Trusting Jaskier to get on with it, he tried to sink into meditation, focusing not on his breath, but on Jaskier’s hands, his absent-minded humming, his scent. It wasn’t quite meditation, but his mind quietened. The only thing that mattered in that moment, was Jaskier. Thumbs swept over aching muscle, loosening the strain. Knuckles dug in to release knots, fingers nimbly working everything back to its rightful place. He could finally relax, take the healing touches as affection. He knew Jaskier was just helping to prevent further injury, but it was too easy to pretend that he was touching for the sake of it, that they were something _more_. 

His breathing lengthened, contentment radiating from deep within his chest. His body seemed to vibrate with it, relaxing even the muscles Jaskier wasn’t tending to. Jaskier was humming lowly, the sound seeming to echo through his body as he melted against the hands running over his shoulders. The hands swept over to his neck, and he tilted his head forwards to give Jaskier better access. The bard murmured an approval, but the humming never stopped. It rolled around his ribcage, almost a physical thing. 

Wait.

The sound wasn’t Jaskier. It was _Geralt_. He was _purring_.

He sat up abruptly, all relaxation forgotten. Fuck, he’d worked so hard to keep it hidden, knowing how humans reacted to reminders of how animalistic witchers really were. He fervently hoped that Jaskier hadn’t noticed, but given how loud it was, that was pretty much a lost cause. He growled to cut off the purr, and scrambled to his feet, lurching for the door before he even found his footing.

“Geralt, wait!” Jaskier’s hand found his wrist and squeezed, hard. Hard enough that he stopped, although not hard enough that he couldn’t break free. It would just take a bit more effort than usual, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally hurt Jaskier.

“Don’t leave, please,” the bard pleaded. “Come and sit down again, it was so nice. If this is about the purring, I don’t mind it, actually, scratch that it’s not even true - I _liked_ it. Geralt. Please.”

Geralt didn’t move. 

The hand on his wrist tugged, none too gently, but he held strong against it. His gaze was locked on the door, his escape route. Suddenly, Jaskier’s face filled his eyesight. He’d placed himself between Geralt and the door. Geralt growled at him, trapped both physically and by his own stupid fucking feelings for the bard. If he’d had any sense, he’d push the man out the way and leave, irregardless of his pleading. As it was, he was weak, too weak to hurt him, to cause the tears gathering in his eyes to fall.

He’d spent many hours at Kaer Morhen training to withstand all types of coercion, manipulation, mind control, and this was none of those, so he should have been able to easily resist. Resist the hope in those expressive blue eyes, the voice begging him not to leave.

“Geralt please sit down again, you need to rest, don’t run from me. Please.”

He couldn't resist. 

No, actually, he could. _He didn’t want to._

He yanked his hand out of Jaskier’s loosened grip, and returned to his place on the pillow, burying his head in his hands.

Jaskier breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He tentatively sat on the bed behind Geralt again, resting a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeped through Geralt’s bare skin, familiar and calming. Geralt relaxed a little, reassured that his slip was apparently not bad enough to get him kicked out this once.

But Jaskier wanted to talk. Of course he did. “Geralt, can you tell me what that was about please? I have my own assumption but I would like to hear it from you.” There was a hardness to his voice indicating that an answer was expected, so unlike the casual conversational tone it usually held. The hand on his shoulder squeezed in a gentle reminder when no answer was forthcoming.

Geralt lifted his head from his hands, grateful his back was to Jaskier, letting him hide. _Coward, hiding from a human, from words. Words can’t hurt if you have no emotions._

“I didn’t want, I wasn’t... _fuck._ ” He growled in frustration. How was he supposed to explain that he shouldn’t be purring like a fucking cat when he’s touched! Any sane person would already know that, but it seemed Jaskier was not a sane person. He tried again. “Sorry for… doing _that_. It won’t happen again.”

“But that’s exactly the problem!”, Jaskier exclaimed. “You don’t need to silence yourself, especially when it means you’re relaxed. That’s what the purring means, right? That you’re relaxed, happy? Like a cat?”

Geralt sighed. Being compared to a domesticated kitty was another reason he hated the purring. But Jaskier was correct, it happened when he felt happy, relaxed, _safe_. It was a well-kept secret, but the walls of Kaer Morhen echoed with the sounds of witchers rumbling happily all winter. “Yeah. Just like a fucking cat.”

There was a quickly stifled giggle from Jaskier at the dry tone. “Ok, good! That means you were enjoying your massage and relaxing properly. About time, too, you overwork yourself Geralt.” The hand moved from his shoulder onto his head, gently brushing over and rearranging the strands. It was nice. He relaxed a little more, settling into the pillow below him. “That’s it,” Jaskier continued, “relax for me. If you feel the need to purr, please don’t hold back on my account. I would be delighted to hear it.” 

Jaskier’s other hand came up, caressing and coaxing the re-tensed muscles to release. It wasn’t even a massage any more, he was just touching. It didn’t make any sense. A massage, yeah, it served a purpose, to reduce and prevent muscle pain. This was softer, fingertips trailed lightly over bare and scarred skin alike. He could feel the heat at every point of contact. It shouldn’t be happening, he couldn’t just _take_ all the softness from the bard, selfishly hoarding every touch. He had to stop it.

“Jaskier, what are you doing.” It came out much hoarser than he would have liked.

Jaskier just hummed a little, undeterred. “You’re allowed to enjoy it, you know.”

What?

“What.”

A thumb stroked up the side of his neck and he leaned his head to the side reflexively. 

“This. Touch, affection.” He froze in place. Was he really so transparent? “It’s freely offered, Geralt. Let yourself accept it, enjoy it.” No, that wasn’t right, surely. 

He turned to examine Jaskier’s face, for any indication that he was lying, but all he saw was a soft grin, crinkling his eyes. It was radiant, and he quickly turned back. 

Freely offered affection? That was new. 

Jaskier never stopped though, tracing lines on his skin, petting his hair. It was nice. It was all he’d ever wanted, how could he deny it? Slowly, he settled, simply feeling the sensations. 

The purr built up in his chest, aware of it this time as it slowly increased in intensity. Years of repressing it and cutting it off were hard to overcome though, and he struggled to let it happen.

“That’s it, let it out,” praised Jaskier. The purr increased, and he was rewarded by a soft kiss on the crown of his head. His breath stuttered, feeling Jaskier’s lips on his scalp. His head lolled back to rest against Jaskier’s knee, upturning his face. Jaskier clearly saw this as an opportunity, as his wandering fingers came up to stroke over his cheeks, his forehead, his temples. 

He tilted into the touch, melting back into Jaskier’s legs behind him, boneless. He’d never felt so relaxed, held safely in Jaskier’s capable hands, offering care without demanding payment. Soft purring filled the room. It stayed quiet, lingering anxiety stopping it from increasing, but it soothed some part of him anyway. 

He drifted, vaguely aware that Jaskier was murmuring to him, but the words seemed to blend together, the soft tone reassuring him.

The rest of the world melted away, and it was just him and Jaskier.

Eventually he became aware of Jaskier tapping against his shoulder, drumming out a beat along with his gentle singing. It wasn’t hard, but the sensation brought his mind back to the present, and he noted with some bewilderment that the lamp was burning low.

Jaskier noticed the direction of his gaze, and chuckled lightly. “Yeah, you’ve been floating for a while. Back with me?”

Floating? He supposed it was a pretty apt description for what he felt, although how Jaskier knew that was a mystery. Too sleepy to question it, he hmmm’d a yes.

“Ok, why don’t we get into bed then. I’m sure you feel tired after your fierce battle earlier, it’s time to rest now.” He pulled on Geralt’s shoulders, and he went with it, allowing Jaskier to tug him onto the bed and in fact, onto the bard. He ended up with his face smushed against Jaskier’s neck, and he pulled back to avoid crushing him. Jaskier had other ideas though, and locked his arm around Geralt’s back.

It’s not like it wasn’t pleasant to be so close to him, so Geralt allowed himself to lie back down. With his face so close, he could almost taste Jaskier, his scent thick and heady. He tried not to let it affect him too obviously, but the purring in his chest renewed in strength. Jaskier smoothed a hand down his back and giggled at the sound. 

“That’s it, sleep now.” Jaskier’s close presence washed over him like a balm. Feeling the warmth of his body against his own was remarkably pleasurable. Jaskier’s deceptively strong arms around him gave him a sense of safety and security. He’d never be completely safe sleeping in a random town, but there in Jaskier’s arms, it was enough. He dropped into sleep effortlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> for the record, Jaskier knew _exactly_ what he was doing.


End file.
